


Crystal Chattel

by Akaisha_Loire



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Force, Crime Syndicate First Order, F/M, Legalized Slavery, Mildly Dubious Consent, More tags to be added, Pleasure Slave!Rey, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 13:02:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14811887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akaisha_Loire/pseuds/Akaisha_Loire
Summary: Rey wasn’t going to cry.She was, however, going to be enraged. She had thought she had proved her worth ten times over to Unkar Plutt. Naively, she thought she’d been worth more than other women she’d seen being exchanged in the darkest tents of Niima Outpost.She never expected Unkar Plutt to yield to an offer from lowlife slave traders, exchanging her for a pouch of credits like she was still his property; crystal chattel to polish and relinquish.





	Crystal Chattel

Rey wasn’t going to cry.

She was, however, going to be enraged. She had thought she had proved her worth ten times over to Unkar Plutt. Over the years she had distinguished herself innumerably amongst the scavenger ranks of Jakku. Naively, she thought she’d been worth more than other women she’d seen being exchanged in the darkest tents of Niima Outpost.

She never expected Unkar Plutt to yield to an offer from lowlife slave traders, exchanging her for a pouch of credits like she was still his property; crystal chattel to polish and relinquish. Rey had assumed feeding her portions for her skills was enough.Yet, she was taken away, beaten down, cuffed, put on a Corellian transport alongside three other girls.

None of them were restrained, likely have gone as willing as a slave possibly could. They sat there, in silence, looking at their feet as the men that took them shared expensive wine from Chandrila. A twi’lek girl across from Rey looks young, afraid, hands quivering in the fabric of her simple burlap covering. Next to her is a heavily made up human like woman, painted with dark lips, dark color around her eyes, dressed in fitted fine cloth. This girl keeps her eyes to the ground, she appeared confident, unafraid of the future that lie ahead; she had been bred for the most elite of clients.

Beside the self assured woman is a cross species girl, part human and part togruta. Rey would guess she fetched the highest price, simply from gossip she caught in Niima, about the sensitivity of their head tails. These men were likely celebrating the wealth they’d make off such a find. No layman would recognize her as anything but pure togruta.

Rey had to bide her time, find a way out that helped them, and get her back to Jakku to wait for her parents to return.

The transport freighter wasn’t complex, it has a decent warp drive, with standard forward propulsion controls. If she could get in the seat she could get into hyperspace in less than a single parsec. She knew her best chance would be on a landing to refuel or pick up another haul, the only other issue was getting out of the cuffs. For that, she was hoping one of the other girls would help.

Unfortunately, her plan is immediately thwarted when they land on Tatooine. A toydarian is waiting with three women chained together, yanked forward against their wills, each one simpering at the handler. Two of them are twi’lek girls that the toydarian tells them came from a very generous hutt. The last is a nautolan girl, crying as she pleads to stay where she is, begging them not to take her back to Glee Anselm; they have to pay double for her, and glare at the toydarian for his greed.

When they’re loaded, the ship is off again, and they’re locked into the hold, their only viable exit being into the cold death of space.

She knows there’s four men on board, two will be in the pilot and copilot seat which leaves the others sitting as guard. There’s a total of seven women on board including herself, and three are currently unbound which could work to her advantage. From what she can see, from her place on the floor, the door has a small control panel on this side, which might be enough for her to get in and short circuit it. Either she’ll open the door and commandeer the ship, or the door locks into place which gives them ample time to escape wherever they land next.

Rey is trying to think how to phrase her request for release when the confident girl raises her head, looking around at them. “I hear one of us is being sold to the First Order,” she tells them, and suddenly all the girls are looking to her, eyes wide.

Rey assumes, as far as slave trade goes, if you’re being sold to someone, it might as well be someone within the most affluent organization in the galaxy; the First Order. She knows when it comes to government outside of the Core Worlds, the First Order is king, working as a semi-senate to most worlds that would be considered lawless, like Jakku. She knows they’re essentially a crime syndicate with a pretty coat of paint. She’s heard they’ve encroached on the Hosnian system, leaving worlds like Coruscant and Corellia in a tizzy.

All these girls know, that if you’re being sold as a slave--particularly as a pleasure slave--it was best to be sold to some rich master that would ensure you a stable life in exchange for a warm bed. She could see the looks in the Tatooine twi’lek girls faces that being on the arm of a First Order general was better than being on the tail of a hutt. “Which one?” the orange fleshed twi’lek girl asks, pulling on the chain that binds her to her companions. Her eyes are wide, pleading, desperate, hoping that she’ll be free of a life of suffering.

“I don't know,” confident human says, pushing her black hair over her shoulder. “All I know is, there’s rumors going around that the Supreme Leader is looking for a slave for his heir, Kylo Ren.”

The orange fleshed twi’lek girl turns to her purple fleshed companion, reaching out to take her hands in a show of solidarity. The young nautolan puffs out her chest, sitting a little taller, determined in her goal to not be sent back to her home world. Rey thinks it’s clear as day that the self-assured human coded woman is just toying with them, getting their hopes up when she’s guaranteed sale to the First Order.

The scared blue fleshed twi’lek girl says nothing, clenching her hands in silent determination. The togruta girls mouths, “It’s you, isn’t it?” to the sanguine beauty who smirks, touching a finger to her painted lips for silence.

Rey could care less, all she cares about is escaping with a ship back to Jakku.

When they land, and the cargo door opens, she knows she has to plan carefully. The hydraulics squeal as the ramp lowers and their captives come out to pull them to their feet, unchaining the women from Tatooine, before turning to Rey, dangling the keys in front of her face before unlocking the thick cuffs.

Their ushered out at blaster point, down the ramp, onto the cold, shined durasteel floor of the First Order’s home base. Around them are white armored soldiers, troopers, standing at attention as other non-human cargo is unloaded. Occasionally, a crate is stopped, examined, and sent on it’s way. They are treated much the same way, ordered to stop just a few short steps away from the freighter.

Rey’s options are limited when she looks. Getting back to the Corellian transporter would mean going through all four men plus a couple troopers. There’s a solid twenty soldiers to her left, making that route a no almost instantly. To her right is a small congregant of maybe ten, and beyond them is a hallway that appears endless. She thinks, if she could get to that hall she could find her way around this place, till she found a fighter, or escape pod, which, logically, would be some floor above their current location.

Their captives line them up, putting Rey next to the painted woman and the orange twi’lek who whimpers at being seperated from her traveling companion--Rey guesses they are sisters. The twi’lek is the only person standing between her and the soldiers and the hall beyond. She’ll apologize if she gets rough, because she knows already she’ll have to fight her way through.

“Attention!” a mechanized voice demands, the armored troopers making a path for a red haired man, dressed to the nine in black First Order garb. Another man follows behind him, dressed in a grey uniform, clearly indicating their status to themselves and the men that served under them.

The grey uniformed man addresses the sharply dressed man as General Hux, indicating that the girls requested by the Supreme Leader have arrived for examination. Hux waves him off, like a fly on the wall, before approaching, ignoring the slave traders extensive list of pricing options. He starts at the opposite end from Rey, examining the togruta girl with a critical eye, declaring her to young, dismissing her all together.

The rest are examined in stoney silence, eyeing them from head to toe, humming in a non-committal way, demanding to see their eyes if they refuse to meet his. General Hux seems impressed by the variety of twi’lek girls offered to him, admiring them with a crude eye. He stops at the painted woman, trained as she is, she meets his gaze with resolve, daring him to find something wrong with her, while also prostrating herself before it; a rather marvelous feat. “Impressive,” he compliments, and she stands a bit taller, like a pylat, fluffing its plumage.

He stops at Rey, eyeing her, nose crinkling in distaste of her dirt covered visage; she’s beneath him. His eyes stray to the twi’lek and before he gets a chance to move away, she takes her chance. The slave traders are arguing prices with the grey dressed underling, the troopers nearest them are at attention, not expecting an attack. General Hux’s head is turned when she decides to lurch forward, headbutting him hard enough to knock him off guard, bringing her knee up into his navel, narrowly missing the sweet spot that would have incapacitated him longer. He stumbles back, and she ignores the chattering shake of her head, shoving the twi’lek girl aside as gently as possible.

She breaks through the first group of armored soldiers, using them as shields as the slave traders gather their wits, firing their stun blasters in her direction. There’s a discarded staff on the floor, broken at one end, probably off balance, but she scoops down for it, skidding on the floor as she does. General Hux has ordered her ceased, and now they’re all moving on her, only now she has a weapon, and she swings it with deadly efficiency--honed from years alone in the unforgiving sands--shoving it into the gut of one trooper before spinning it to thwack the head of another.

Like most strong armed men they try to subdue her with strength, going to grab her arms, or torso, and she counterbalances their weight against them, pushing and pulling till she can kick them aside. One lifts her enough to plant her feet on the chest of his companion, knocking him back, as well as themselves, sending them careening into a grate that has the trooper that held her crying out in shocked pain. When she wiggles free she grabs the staff, freedom just steps away, but then everything changes.

It feels like the air is sucked out of the room, out of her lungs, leaving her gasping at the dark figure that blocks her exit. He’s tall, imposing, clothed in thick black wools from head to foot, his face covered in a mask that would be considered exquisite if it were not hiding the face of the monster underneath. Because that’s what he is, a monster, a boogie man, for only a demon could cause this unwavering fear in her. Like a spectre from a dream, she’s frozen, and a blaster shot hits her thigh, sending her knees buckling, cracking painfully on the durasteel ground.

“Seize her, immediately!” General Hux demands, she can imagine that his face is likely twisted in his anger, ugly in his consternation; it makes her smile. The troopers comply, rushing forward to hoist her up, clasping her wrists in front of her, while the men argue that Hux pay their price for her. “She’s now a criminal of the First Order, you will not be compensated.”

The silent wraith of a man before her tilts his head just slightly to the right before the modulated voice says, “Pay them what they ask.”

“For the trouble,” one of the traders boldly speaks up, traipsing forward as if he’s won a lotto. “We want double. 40,000 credits and she’s yours.”

The specter crooks his fingers, a trooper behind him raises his blaster, shooting the man down with a blast of red light, giving no thought to the act or murder. After the trader is on the floor, dead, his companions laugh anxiously, accepting a offer just over what they paid Unkar. “With all due respect, this girl should be tried for her crimes against the First Order,” Hux tries, silenced when the ghoul’s guard turns their weapons on him.

“We’re done here. Take her to the keeper,” the modulated voice commands, then he’s gone, as fast as he appeared.

*

Va’na is the made up woman’s name, and she’s bought as well, sold to the First Order for 20,000 credits; she seems loathe to the fact the traders asked 40,000 for Rey. Though, she considers it a victory that Rey was only bought for a measly 15,000 credits. The keeper--a stern woman, greying hair knotted high on her head, sentry like in her observations--clearly thinks they overpaid for Rey.

She circles Rey like a steel pecker near a find, lifting her hands, poking her behind, and as Rey stands there, she contemplates another way to escape this hell she’s found herself in. “You need to be cleansed,” the keeper proclaims, making Rey’s cogitation grind to a halt. “The hair restyled, eyebrows cleaned, lips painted,” she continues, but all Rey can focus on is the cleansing.

Somewhere as nice as this space base is sure to have hot water, and she can’t remember a time that she hasn’t used cold water to quickly wash her most basic areas. Hygiene is not something readily kept on Jakku, tending to be reserved to spring water and a rag just to become somewhat less dirty. Rey supposes she could stay for the bath, plotting liberation is much easier when one is clean.

“You, my dear, are lovely, perfect,” she complements Va’na, twirling her apprasingly, before deciding she needed only a change in wardrobe. “Lord Ren will be quite pleased with you.”

Va’na shoots Rey a triumphant sneer just seconds before Rey is whisked away by maids dressed in sheaths, each one indistinguishable from the next. She’s forced into a room that is nothing but steam and a bath, literally. Rey never imagined that a refresher could be just one singular room with a large swimming hole in the center, but that is what this is.

There’s a fountain in the center, keeping the water circulating as clothed women helped those who were currently bathing. A red fleshed woman looks over at Rey as if she’s a pest beneath her shoe. Her eyes are yellow, horns protrude from her head; Rey’s never seen anyone like her before. She has no shame in standing, turning to showcase her voluptuous bust, allowing the maids to clean her properly before sinking back into the water.

Rey has never felt self conscious about her body before, but right now, she feels more naked than she ever has. She almost yells at the maids, refusing to let them remove the fabric she’d work so hard to scavenge on Jakku, trading portions for the stiff twills and loose gauzes. They think it’s trash as they toss it into a bin once it’s free of her. They rip, tear, cut, what they can till they’re able to push her into the tub.

Rey curses, loudly, as the first touch of sweltering water washes over her skin, seering her in ways the sun on Jakku never had. The maids pay no mind to her discomfort, proceeding to shove her down into the water until only her head remains above the surface, her chin dipped at just the edge. They roughly pull her hair free of her perfectly cultivated buns before dunking her under, bringing her up in a spluttering mess. “Was that really necessary?” she asks, they don’t answer.

What they do is pour a liquid over her hair, sweet smelling, like fruit, apples, maybe. She closes her eyes to avoid exposure to it, allowing them to scrub at her scalp, trying to wash away nearly 15 years of grime. They dunk her without warning, she coughs, they pay no heed.

They add a thicker fluid on top of her hair, massaging it in surprisingly gentle like, their finger causing little pin pricks of sensation to sprout across her scalp. She’s lulled into a calm, and when her eyes close, it’s not in fear of chemical burn, but in relaxation; sleep. It’s almost as if she doesn’t care anymore as they clean her, rubbing at her skin roughly till it’s red from the exertion.

All she can picture is laying on a beach shore, surrounded by clean white sand, hearing ocean waves crash, even as they lift her arm to remove unsightly hair. Her legs are given the same treatment as her underarms, her brows are plucked to precision, and all she feels is a tiny sting, the prickle of grass. When she comes too, she’s standing in front of a mirror, looking at herself nude, with her suntanned skin on display, wiped clean of grime.

They’ve done a number on her, trimmed her hair, leaving her body bare of it, even the delicate area between her legs is bare, and it’s petrifying; far more frightening than looking down the endless pit of a fallen star destroyer. To think these women were so close to parts she barely wanted to touch herself was humiliating. But then, Rey knew what she was here for, she is a sex slave, and no man would want her if she was covered in body hair.

“Much better,” the keeper asserted, entering the dress room that Rey had been escorted too--she didn’t know where it was in relation to the large bathing area. The woman’s eyes were brighter, seeing her clean, and appraised her like a toydarian with one credit piece. “Now, you look like you could earn your keep.”

The keeper clapped her hands, and the maids rushed off to a wardrobe while Rey stood there, still bare as birth. Luckily, the maids were quick, and returned with a pouch of clothing, opening to reveal the black garb within. They lifted the top, which looked to be no more than a tube meant to cover her breasts and nothing more. The keeper took it, forcing it over Rey’s head, down her arms to her waist till she was able to pull it back up to cover her bosom. “Not much there,” the keeper sighed, and the maids chittered.

The bottoms are barely there, small trips of fabric that barely conceal her womanhood and offer nothing but a strip at her behind. There’s two long strips of sheer that will touch the floor, in the front and back, but it does nothing more to conceal her behind.

She’s compliant in putting them on, if only to not have to look at her body further. She can hear the keeper tski’ing at every little hard fought scar on her body, calling them smear on a otherwise erstwhile complexion. Once she’s “dressed”, the keeper decides she’s to plain, saying this as she tugs and pulls at Rey’s head, cleanly dislodging several strands in painful yanks.

Rey utters a sound of pain and the keeper pinches her arm. “Keep your silence, girl,” she says, turning to the maids, instructing them in the proper way to make her presentable.

She’s forced onto a stool, procured from somewhere behind her, forced to look at herself in the mirror as the keeper appraises the work of the maids. Like Unkar Plutt she appraises the maid’s plaits to Rey’s hair like a converter torn from an old TIE-fighter. Unlike Unkar Plutt, there is no reward waiting for her, just more ripping, and pulling of her hair as the women attempt to tame it into something respectable of a First Order slave.

When they finally finish one side the keeper is pleased. In the middle of offering up a compliment someone comes bursting through the door of the dressing room.

The maid, dressed in blue, is a stand out from the rest, and mutters hurriedly to the keeper in a language that Rey has yet to hear. Whatever is being said causes the women braiding her hair to stiffen, and the keeper’s eyebrows to draw downward in severe distaste as if something pungent was under her nose. The maids at her head begin to work more furiously; Rey can’t help but cringe as they tug even harder in their haste.

Once the hair is tied back with a white floral, they reach for a wooden box before the keeper comes over, waving them off. “No time,” she declares, yanking Rey up by the arm, pulling her forcibly out of the changing room through the door that leads into the main entry she had arrived in. “Keep your eyes down, do not speak unless spoken to, is that clear?”

“Crystal,” Rey bites out, bare feet cold from the steel beneath her. The Keeper marches her straight to a lift outside the slave quarters, pushing her in, pressing the button for a top level floor.

“There will be a poof in the corner, if you’re instructed to kneel you will do there, and will not move till instructed. Your hands are kept on your knees, back straight, accept no food or drink,” the keeper continues, tapping her heeled foot as the lift climbed higher and higher. “When he requests you to give him physical pleasure you will do so,” she further added. “You’re completely untrained,” she groused. “We need more time. You were meant to go to Lieutenant Mitaka, this was not part of my plan.”

The lift comes to a stop and Rey is shoved forward, head forced by the hand of the keeper to stay down as they shuffle along the hallway, taking a right towards the end and moving two doors down before coming to a stop. The keeper knocks once, two raps with her fist, stepping back to remain behind Rey, her hands poking and prodding, informing Rey to stand straight, chest out, head down, attempt to look presentable.

Naturally, the first thing Rey does when the door open is look straight up, defiantly into the steel plated mask of the man she’s being given too.

In his grip is Va’na’s arm, and he shoves her forward, out of his quarters. “You have brought what I paid for this time?” he asks, and Rey’s eyes narrow on him; the keeper attempts to force her head back down to her feet.

“My Lord, this young thing is untrained, I stand by my original gift of Va’na, she will do far more for your needs.”

“It is my honor to serve you, Lord Ren,” Va’na says, voice a whisp, pliant, subservient.

Lord Ren looks at Rey, or she thinks he does. His head cocks slightly, but it’s impossible to see the man’s eyes behind the think fiberglass material. The keeper places her knee behind Rey’s own, until she’s practically bowing in half, which Rey assumes is meant to be a sign of contrition. “It is my honor to serve you, Lord Ren,” she bites out knowing it sounds horribly mocking because Va’na lets out a flabbergasted utterance, while the keeper practically rips her arms off with the force at which she grabs it.

Lord Ren, however, chuckles, and steps aside. “Bring her in.”

The keeper does so, leading her into the reception room of the rather large quarters. She’s given no time to admire it though, as she’s led straight to a red pillow, forced down by a hand to the shoulder. The keeper grabs her by the chin, long nails digging into Rey’s cheeks as she’s force to meet the stern hazel gaze. “You will not deny him, you understand? If you do, you will be severely punished, am I clear?”

“...perfectly..” Rey spits, wanting to bite her tongue, if just to get away from this woman.

She’s released, and the woman bows to Rey’s specter owner. “When you require someone more experienced, please call for me.”

When, Rey notes, not if. The keeper is sure that Rey will displease this man, and he’ll be begging for Va’na before the night’s end.

Lord Ren sees her out, and then they’re alone.

*

Lord Ren doesn’t speak, he works, sitting at a desk in the reception room, examining papers written in Bocce from what Rey can see. One of them is a trade order, for weapons, and she just sits there, not sure what to say or do, thinking it unwise to try and escape in the presence of a crime lord.

She’s hungry, but instead of requesting a meal, she says, “Why do you wear that mask? Are you disfigured?”

His head turns slowly, staring at her. “You are afraid of me?”

“When you’re owned by a monster in a mask, it’s hard not to be afraid,” she answers honestly, leaving him open for the next move.

What she’s not expecting is for his hands to go to either side of the mask, depressing the hinges that hold it in place, releasing it with a rush of oxygen. He lifts it away revealing the face of a prince, not a beast, a sharp jawed, dark haired prince who she’s having a hard time reconciling to the cold demeanor of Lord Ren. His face is soft, like he takes after his mother. He has a beauty mark to the right of his nose and one above his left brow. It’s hard to see this man as a wraith when all she imagines is the holonovel covers that feature a shirtless prince, sweeping a damsel off her feet.

“Adequate?”

She shrugs, hoping she’s not flushing under his gaze; she’s not immune to attractive men.

“You can sit if that is uncomfortable,” he tells her, motioning his gloved hand to the chair across from him, returning to his papers. “No need to kneel there as if you were a loth cat.”

She doesn’t move for a solid second, but then her feet quake, tired of bearing her weight and she decides she’s kneeled long enough.

It’s a shaky lift off, her thighs quivering from their disuse. Her feet nearly become tangled on the sheer of the garment she’s been forced to wear, but she makes it to her feet, gathering her bearings almost instantly, and making her way to the chair. She sits and he offers her nothing more than a grunt, moving papers into seemingly assigned piles.

So here she is, sitting in front of a crime boss, who is pursuing a proposal for decreased import taxes on hauls coming from Kessel, under the terms that the transport in question make the run in less than the standard twenty parsecs. It’s hard to read backwards, but she catches the jist of what is written, and glares at the paper. “So this is what you do? Grant leeway to smugglers who traffick drugs?”

“I do not. However, the drugs are being used regularly as is, a large proportion of them have appeared along the Corellian trade route, and with the Republic legalizing certain uses of spice, it raises the tax on them innumerably, even to planets outside the reach of the Republic. So smugglers, looking to unload a few simple kilograms may find themselves taxed for more than their worth, especially considering the length of the Kessel Run,” he answered, reading over it, putting it face down atop a red folder.

“I’ve heard that Han Solo made the Kessel Run in 14 parsecs, what if there is more Han Solo’s out there? You lose money on the deal.”

“12 parsecs,” he answered, picking up another sheet.

Rey tilted her head in confusion. “Huh?”

“You stated Han Solo made the Kessel Run in 14 parsecs. It was 12,” he elaborated, placing the sheet he had just picked up in one of his piles.

“Oh,” she blinked, looking at the papers. “So this is what you do all day?”

“No. This is generally what General Hux pushes off on underlings. I have simply found the system laxed and not being used to it’s potential, so I’m taking the time to review all articles submitted and currently reviewed,” he answered, putting another paper where the last had gone. It was the largest of the stacks and she was starting to think this was the trash pile. “Some are also horribly translated which leaves the language open to interpretation, thereby putting a large liability on the First Order.”

“Oh,” she said dumbly, surprised at how professional he almost sounded. As if the First Order was nothing more than a larger corporation working in tandem with the Republic, as opposed to a crime syndicate that happened to set up base wherever they saw fit, governing the lawless states of the galaxy as if they were entitled to them. “Are these in Bocce?” she questioned, reaching for the shortest stack, pulling them towards herself.

“They are. There’s never a sufficient translator on hand for Bocce, most have already been approved and submitted for review,” he told her, placing a page face down on the red folder.

“I hope not,” she laughed, trying to stifle the sound behind her hand as to not offend the man. Yet, she can’t help the slightest bit of a snort she lets out, eyes watering as she reads over the page with ease that came from dealing with outlaws on Jakku. “I-I’m sorry,” she gasped, trying to calm herself, noting that he was now staring at her, eyebrow raised in question.

She turned the page to him, noting the line at the bottom that had been mistranslated to read: The above document entitles the Supreme Leader of the First Order open slave routes along the A15 to A217. “In Bocce, the language changes when using the possessive, so whoever translated this apparently didn’t realize what they were reading actually uses the possessive, I, at the beginning, and while normally you would move adjectives like slave to the back of the sentence, when you’re reading it as possessive the sentence reads more literal in Galactic Basic. So it actually reads, The above document entitles me to treat the Supreme Leader of the First Order as my slave, along the routes of my choosing, between A15 and A217.”

She placed it down, looking at him with a smile. “And that’s me being nice, they actually used an expletive, not the word slave, though the same symbol is used, in this context, they’re intending to be demeaning.”

“You read Bocce.”

“I can read several languages,” she answered nonchalantly.

Lord Ren gave a hum, reaching to his left, procuring a pen, sliding it across to her. “Amend as you see fit.”

Rey wants to comment that normally sex slaves aren’t used for administrative work, but who is she to complain especially when she begins to read the slave order and finds it riddled with language that demeans nearly everyone in the First Order, occasionally using archaic symbols that changed the meaning to fool translators. She can’t stop herself from laughing, because this beats kneeling at his feet like some pet.

If this is what Lord Ren of the First Order wants her to do, then she will do it.

*

“This is amazing!” Rey exclaims, some time later, re-reading the paper over and over. “This document is verified by the Republic and delegates of Tatooine, or, as many as there can be in a place like Tatooine, that grants a straight line price on slave trade meaning no one person is more expensive than the other, and the standard at 10,000 credits for all exchanges made on Tatooine. Granted, this will upset the toydarians, greedy little creatures that they are. Either way, it’s far from the end of slavery, but it’s a good step, when you can’t profit as much off the people..”

“I’ll consider it,” he says, nonchalantly, holding his hand out for the sheet, clearly not as enthusiastic as she is.

“You’ll consider it? Does feathered hair obscure your vision that much? If there’s a straight line price on slaves, that means smugglers and traders can’t make as much money on them, which means there’s likely to be a decrease in slavery, and even if it’s just on Tatooine, it’s a start for bigger change in the galaxy.”

“And I said, I’ll consider it,” he repeated, even, levelled. “I don't expect you to understand, but even the Republic finds slave trade highly profitable which is why it’s legalized and policed the way that it is. Many planets would experience an economic downturn by eliminating slave trade, or even streamline credit exchanges, thus, I’ll consider it.”

She slaps him. Before she even gives thought to the motion she rises to her feet and swings her hand, colliding with his cheek in a firm hit, all her anger directed into one follow-through motion. When she realizes what she’s done, she knows she needs to run, or hide, to avoid his ire at being hit by nothing more than a slave.

She doesn’t know what room she bars herself into, but she slams the door shut, gets into the panel, and changes the validation codes as fast as she can to keep him out. After which, she slides down against the paneled door, bringing her knees to her chest, cradling her head against them. She’s done something stupid, and she knows she’s dead for it. Not in a humiliation, embarrassment, sort of way, but likely, physically, dead.

*

“There’s food outside the door, when you’re hungry,” he voice says, startling her awake.

She’s curled on the floor in a bundle against the door, and has somehow procured a blanket to wrap herself in. There’s no concept of time in this room, she could have been asleep for minutes, or even hours, she doesn’t know. What she does know is that there’s a horrible crick in her neck that takes her several minutes of wincing to work out.

She stands, and the automatic lights click on, showing her what she didn’t see before.The room she’s in is a bedroom that houses a double bed in black sheets, possibly krylon, with a wall of drawers and a small table. It’s plain, undecorated, and clearly used only for sleeping. The sheets are mushed, so she must have pulled the sheet off the bed at some point in the blur of motion last night.

Rey decides she needs to meet her fate, bucking up the courage to open the door ready to face her maker only to see nothing.

No one is there, except for a plate of the most lavish food she’s ever seen. It’s clearly breakfast, which means she slept through the night. She only wonders for the briefest of seconds if it’s poisoned when the smell of the fresh meat wafts through her nose, and she realizes it’s been at least two days since she’s last ate; stomach lurching painfully till she feels she’ll vomit.

She devours the meal, thinking it’s likely the best last meal she’s ever had if it’s actually poisoned. The meat is cooked just under well done, leaving it juicy, and perfect, as it slides down her throat. The eggs are the right side of over hard with just a bit of yellow seeping out of the bulb. A strip of meat has just been deposited on her tongue when the door opens, startling her into a coughing fit.

It’s not Lord Ren though, but a servant in a white uniform, carrying a tray. They say nothing until they set the train down on the table previously occupied by documents. “Lord Ren has sent this with his regards. If you require anything else, simply ask.”

“I’m sorry, what?” she questioned, looking at the servant who offered no further instruction to accompany the platter of foods and drinks.

Rey couldn’t believe it. She had slapped the man, and he was rewarding her with food, drink, and nourishment? That wasn’t what she was expecting at all, unless, of course, it was all poisoned and this was simply a last meal.

“Well,” she decided verbally. “If it’s going to be a last meal, I’m going to make the most of it.”

On Jakku, portions were scarce, and the few credits she was able to scrounge up from the sand supplied her measly bits of meat, or occasionally eggs. Fruit was the easiest thing to come by, but even then she bartered for it, and made sure to stretch an apple out over four days. Fresh food is something she’s never really come by, it makes her hasten to the table to gouge herself on everything offered.

Manners be damned, she shovels everything she can get her hands on into her mouth, chasing it with fruit juices and water. Her belly feels distended by the time she stops to catch her breath, and she’s sure to vomit any moment which helps to slow her pace. A voice saying, “You’ll make yourself sick,” halts her completely, eyes turning up to the masked face of Lord Ren as he enters the room.

He sits across from her, unceremoniously removing his helmet, setting it aside to run a hand through his hair. “Was it poisoned?” she asks.

“Would I tell you if it were?” he responds and traitorously her lips turned up in mirth. “Where are you from?”

“Nowhere,” she answered automatically, sitting back, letting her stomach settle, refusing to eat another bite.

“My uncle once told me that no one is from nowhere.”

“.....Jakku.”

The left side of his lip turned up in a half grin, a exhale that could have been a laugh leaving him. “That’s pretty close to nowhere, but explains your desperation for nourishment.”

“I worked for food, as hard as I could, it doesn’t mean it was plentiful,” she answered, narrowing her eyes on him, resenting the healthy glow to his cheek. The light flush of pink that said the man had never wanted for anything in his life, but what could one expect from a crime lord?

Lord Ren’s eyes move over her exposed skin, eyeing her shoulders, her stomach, going down as far as he can till there’s nothing more to see. “I can see that. You were not born into the life of a slave. Trainers would never allow a girl your age to have skin so marred.”

“I’ve earned these scars,” she bit out, tapping one on her collarbone. “This one? I got from a group of migrant Tusken Raiders that came to Niima, stirring up trouble over some class 3 droid systems, that weren’t even functioning, mind you. Fought them off when they tried to pilfer them.”

“That is why I purchased you, you’re a fighter, you’re not submissive, like the others. Your spirit is admirable,” he told her, standing from the table, prickly fruit in hand. “There are books, in the cupboard over my wardrobe, feel free to explore.”

“And where are you going?” she questioned, watching as he devoured the fruit in three bites, wiping the juices off with a piece of cloth from the table.

“Work. My duties within the First Order. Make yourself comfortable as you see fit, there’s a standing wash in the refresher,” with that, he replaced his mask, and left her to her own devices.

Rey looked around, and decided it was now or never to plan her escape.

*

The door was locked from the outside, so Lord Ren wasn’t a complete fool and from the looks of things, Rey couldn’t rewire the panel from inside the room. She checked the wall the door was set in twice, but no sign of a crease or opening where a panel could be placed, which meant everything was external. The only doors she could rewire were the ones to his bedroom, and the refresher, both with internal panels that allowed her to lock herself in, or out, if she ran through before the door closed; neither one of those panels would be useful unless she had a droid.

If there was an emergency escape route built into the room she couldn’t find it. The floor was solid steel from wall to wall with no hollow spots, no give, and no soft spots indicating a lifting hatch. The bed was built into the wall, curved up at the top, cushioned, with zero give that would allow it to move. Even the wardrobe bookshelf was built into the durasteel wall, with not even the tiniest indication that it might open.

She does find his book collection though, in a sliding cupboard above his drawers that contain undergarments, such as briefs, socks, shirts, things that feel so normal it’s hard to integrate the idea with the man who, for all intents and purposes, owned her. She tried to imagine Lord Ren coming out of the fresher, to put on an undershirt, and socks, before getting dressed for the day, and the image just doesn’t suit. In fact, it’s near hysterical to imagine a crime lord doing anything but illegal illicit activities.

His book collection is even filled with books about crime, fictional characters blasting their ways through banks, taking credits, and women for all their worth--she scoffs to herself, because who owns physical copies of books these days. There’s a couple of instructional manuals on droid maintenance and a book on Corellian freighters. Beside those is a well worn book, clearly read more than the others, whose title she can’t make out due to its state.

She pulls the book from the shelf, surprised to see a cover featuring a brunette girl dressed in black wool, the tail of her coat waving in the planet’s wind as she stands atop a blood covered rock, a red lightsaber ignited behind her, eyes glowing yellow as she dares the reader to continue on. It’s entitled, _Nabooian Sea_ , and Rey’s interest is caught, as she turns to the back to read the summary of the novel.

The book proclaims it’s the first in a series of novels about a girl, a sith lord, named Kira who knows one thing: murder. She meets a young man, a smuggler, called Caedus, and he begins to break through everything she always thought she held in balance. The bottom poses the question: Who will bring balance to the Force?

She’d be lying if she says she’s not drawn in, almost immediately. She finds herself, sitting up at his bed, resting against the cushions of the wall, opening to page one, surprised the writer has made the setting Jakku, of all places. In fact, it starts in the village of Tuanul, which has been turned into a place of worship in the book, for the Jedi religion it seems. She’s still confused on what a Jedi is exactly, but she hopes it’ll be explained further in the book.

Kira is seeking information about a man named Lukas, determined to find him she cuts down villagers as if they’re nothing and Rey’s eyes boggle. It’s such a dramatic opening scene for a book she’s left stunned a bit until the next chapter when they meet Caedus, a smuggler known for being no holds bar in his quest to make the most credits in the galaxy. He’s an ace pilot that’s far above the plight of the Republic who seeks to get away from the clutches of the Empire, and seems to have no regard for anyone but himself.

Rey turns on her side, laying across the pillows as Caedus crash lands on Jakku, alongside a Republic pilot and a traitor of the Empire, both attempting to smuggle a droid off the wasteland planet hoping to get it back to their General before they’re captured. She’s completely enthralled by the detailed escape flight, practically steering the book as if it were the gears of a freighter, whipping and turning with the book, imaging herself flying through parts of Jakku it describes.

Caedus makes her laugh, in his complete apathy of the situation, ignoring the plight of Vinn and Ko, wanting nothing to do with anything that might get him killed. He’s snarky, sarcastic, and from the book’s description, quite attractive. He takes no orders from anyone, yet, she’s gasping when he about gets his leg eaten off by a ravenous rathtar attempting to save Ko’s life.

She turns on her stomach, flipping page after page, devouring every word, every second until Caedus meets Kira on the planet of Takodana. Rey’s never been there, she can’t fully imagine a place so green, so full of life. She closes her eyes to try anyways, and thinks, for a moment, she can smell fresh pine before she’s pulled back in.

Caedus is drawn to a lightsaber, hearing voices, seeing visions of the sith lord Kira who comes for him just a few pages later. Kira is enthralled by him, taken by the larger person, interested in a way that the sith aren’t meant to entertain. He seems equally as taken, drawn in by her darkness, tempted to give into the anger, the hatred he’s felt all of his childhood; expressed in a harsh exchange with his father just moment ago. When Kira draws closer, they’re practically nose to nose, breathing each other in, Rey hops to her knees, bringing the book impossibly closer to her face till she’s almost cross eyed with anticipation. There’s a passion between them, something thrumming that has Rey hoping they kiss.

Unfortunately, the moment is broken by Vinn, who fires at Kira, wanting to save his new friend. Kira knocks the traitor out of the game easily, with a wave of her hand, and turns to Caedus. “There’s something…” he says, and Rey imagines it with a husky whisper, smooth like melted sweets.

“I feel it too,” Kira replies, and she extends her hand to him. Caedus has seen the map to Lukas, just two chapters ago, but Rey can’t bring herself to care as Caedus places his hand in Kira’s and follows her aboard her craft like an obedient bassa hound, eager to please it’s master.

Rey isn’t sure what they’re referring to when they mention the feeling. What she is sure of though, is how red her face becomes when the next chapter is dedicated to them delving into their desires.There’s no talk of the map, or alliances, or where they stand in the war around them. There’s a slow undressing, a caressing over every scar lined inch of Kira’s body, until Caedus is having his way with her in the most primal of ways. It’s not delicate, or soft, or gentle, the book goes even so far as to describe as volatile, but Rey can’t help the tingle between her own legs; the distinct feeling that fluids are dripping out as she reads.

She plops back onto the pillows, biting her lip as the eroticism escalates, and Caedus is whispering in Kira’s ear, “You feel me? All of me?” as he takes her in his brutal passions, holding her against the wall, making her rely on his physical strength.

Kira is not passive in the act, rocking and moving against him with everything she has, making sure he remembers whose incharge. Rey has to squeeze her thighs together to squelch the desire she feels at reading it, suddenly understanding why holovids featuring nude women were so popular.

“Find something interesting?” Lord Ren’s voice, altered by his mask, questions, and she startles. Tossing the book aside along with several pillows that fall to the ground in her fright.

“I was just reading.”

“So I see. The Prime Jedi is a very good series, unfortunately, I only have the first in its original binding,” he tells her, hands removing his mask, placing it on the table in his bedroom. “Titillating isn’t it?”

“I guess,” she plays dumb, even as he approaches, sitting down on the edge of the bed. She yearns to make herself smaller, crawling away from him into the corner.

“I can assist you,” he offers, pulling off his left glove, followed by his right, dropping them onto the bed.

“I dont think so,” she glares, hurdling closer to the wall, making herself even smaller. Though, she knows, she’s not supposed to say no to this man, in her role as a slave, she’s meant to offer him her body if he asks it.

He doesn’t press the matter, instead, nodding his head, standing. “I will call for dinner.”

“Wait!” she calls, and she wants to ask him why he just takes no for an answer. He paid for her, so shouldn’t he demand physical acts from her instead of walking away? “You can, do whatever you want…..” she sighs, uncoiling, letting her legs stretch out in front of herself.

“....because it’s what you want?” he asks, carefully, as if approaching a frightened animal.

“I’ve been told not to say no.”

“I see,” he hums, and she can visibly see a shadow pass over his face. “You have said no and--”

“Well I take it back!” she shouts, cutting him off, now irritated that she technically said yes, and he’s still walking away from her. “Am I not your type?”

“I didn’t purchase you because I find you attractive,” he says, and she’s flabbergasted. He seems to realize what he’s said, face a stern line as he likely tries to mentally backtrack to save himself. “What I meant to say is, you are attractive, but I didn’t pay for a sex droid.”

“But that’s what I am! That’s what I’m here for!” she argues, because it’s true, even if she’s loathed to admit it. “So just, do what you were going to, and everyone will be happy.”

He returns, sitting next to her. “You know, I can simply take everything I want.”

It’s a reminder, that if she lets him touch her, there’s nothing keeping him from taking everything her body has to offer. “It is, what it is,” she tells him, realizing that he’s in his room, which means the main door is currently open. If he takes her, the act will likely cause him to fall asleep, and even if it breaks her pride, she will be able to escape because she’s not sure she could knock him unconscious with only pillows at her disposal.

She spreads her legs, the long sheer material falling to offer the slightest bit more coverage. His eyes rake her before he consents, reaching with his left hand to rest it on her knee, running it down her thigh. She closes her eyes, imagining something different, imaging Takodana or perhaps Caedus, with his dark hair and eyes, steely and determined.

That seems to do the trick, as the tingling sensation returns as Lord Ren moves his hand up and down her thigh, his fingers callsused, surprising work worn, and her mind produces images of a fictional man.

Ren’s fingers toy at the edge of her undergarments, teasing, making the leaking between her legs heavier until finally those fingers are rubbing over her womanhood in a way she hasn’t dared touch herself before. The first brush of his fingers sends her body jolting, trembling with a thrill of ecstacy. The second pass of his fingers has her brain asking why she was refusing him this in the first place.

He moves the sheer aside, moving it till it rests over her right thigh, and then he’s just moving his fingers over the cloth covering her, going up and down between the wetness and something at the top that makes her squirm every time he brushes it. She’s not ignorant to sex--she’d just read a very explicit book, after all--so she assumes the nub he toys around is her clitoris, and it offers her the greatest pleasure.

She feels like Kira, taking control, as she grabs his hand and puts it on that pleasure center, demanding nonverbally that he touch her there. He offers no words, no sounds, just a shift of his hand till the pad of his thumb is pressed against that spot, working it in slow circles. “Uh..” came out of her mouth, as her body bowed off the bed, taken by the sensation that crashed over her.

He stopped, till she could breathe again, letting her relax before repeating the motion, moving a bit faster.

“Wh-wha..?” she tried to get out, squirming under his ministrations, reaching for his arm to get him to stop or keep going, she wasn’t sure. What she was sure about was that she’d never experienced so many sensations all at one time. Her mind was blank, while simultaneous full of every dirty image she’d ever seen in her life. It was as if she was suddenly okay with doing anything as long as the pleasure kept coming.

Then, his hand moved her panties aside, that calloused thumb coming in contact with her bare sex. She shot up into sitting, hugging his arm as he worked her clit in a frenzy of motion she could no longer keep track of. Her body is working for her, chasing the ecstacy like a high, moving against him, silently begging for more with each little gasp.

Words are mumbled against her hair; words she can’t comprehend. All she knows is that he’s playing her body like a finely tuned circuit board, and when his longest finger slides inside her slicked passage, a new, terrifying sensation takes over.

Rey claws at his arm, undulating against him, practically screaming herself hoarse in what she can only think is a heart attack, until it’s over and she can clearly hear him repeating the word breath, his free hand stroking her hair. She slowly comes down from the high, questioning everything she just thought during the rush of pleasure. It was as if her mind took over, saying everything and anything would feel good if he continued to touch her.

“I’m going to relieve myself,” he says, extracting himself from her, placing her gently down on the bed.

She’s left somewhere between having to relieve herself and feeling like she could nap for the next ten hours. It’s strange, but not unwelcome.

*

“The rest of the series is on my datapad, feel free to read it,” he says over dinner, casually acting like they hadn’t just, whatever they did, an hour ago.

“Any chance I could see something outside this room?” she tries.

“It would not be wise. Hux is still humiliated over you besting him, ideal to wait out his ire,” he answered, sipping the contents of his cup.

Rey looked up from her dinner, surprised. He was protecting her, even if she was basically in a prison.

She had another tally on the list of things that he did that were confusing. Ordering her food, having new clothing brought up, walking away when she said no, giving her reading material, advising her away from an irritable General that would likely hurt her for revenge. “You’re a strange man, Lord Ren.”

“Kylo.”

“Hm?”

“My name. You can call me Kylo,” he clarified, and she tested it on her tongue before acquiescing.

“Kylo, then. You’re a strange man, Kylo Ren.”

*

She chunks the book at him, hard, surprised when he actually catches it without looking up from his place on the pull out sofa--she’ll question where it came from in a moment. “Why didn’t you tell me she kills Caedus’ father?!”

“That would have ruined the climax for you,” he replies, setting the book aside, returning to his work on his datapad.

“I don't understand! I thought they had a connection and then she does that! Just kills him! When she’s had nothing her whole life and just takes this part of him, it’s not right!” she exclaims, pacing the room, replaying the final moments of the book in her head. They had battled in Caedus’ anguish, despite his dislike of his father, he had clearly loved the man. Rey supposes he got Kira back when he nearly sliced her open with the lightsaber but she still couldn’t get over her running his father through with a lightsaber. “All he wanted was to be like his father! He loved him! And she just…”

“You should read the next one, things become a bit more clear,” he advises.

“I just don’t get her at all. It's like she used sex as a weapon or something, to get close to him, to get the map, or maybe it’s that simple, she was trying to get the map and thought he’d be weakened during sex.” She can’t fault the woman, as she’d concocted a similar plan just hours ago against Kylo.

“I think it’s more of, she’s never really had physical attachment before, and here’s this man that confuses her, and she feels something that she can’t pinpoint, but being sith the concept of morality is lost in her mind. All she knows is primal, and what's more fundamental than giving your body to someone? In my opinion, during those moments she forgot about the map, and lost herself in this sense of belonging with Caedus that she’d never really had before,” he says, raising an eyebrow at her when she comes over, knocking his bare feet from the sofa to sit on the edge. He has bare feet, she thinks, for a split second before getting back to the subject at hand.

“So, she’s evil, but does she get redeemed? Or they can’t be together unless she turns him evil too?”

“You’ll have to read and find out.”

“I’m not going to read them if everyone dies at the end,” she obstinately replies, bringing her feet up to put them on his thighs, just to show how much of a brat she was going to be in her quest for answers.

“And I’m not going to tell you how they end.”

“Fine, there’s no choice but for you to read them to me,” she decided, smirking in victory when he looked up from his work.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, get to it,” she ordered, shifting to make herself more comfortable on the sofa. “Go on then.”

He looked at her in disbelief for the briefest of seconds before his fingers moved over his datapad, bringing up the novel as requested. “Caedus couldn’t believe he was standing upon the cliffside, staring at the man his father had once, boldly, proclaimed his best friend before he had gone into exile. The man that had led armies against the Empire, began the revolution of the dying Jedi religion; Lukas, only stood two paces away. Caedus was awestruck…”

*-*-*-*-*

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading. I hope you enjoyed, and while updates may be slow, I have a clear idea of where I'm taking this story, so I hope you guys will stick around.
> 
> Thank you again!


End file.
